


She has her father's eyes

by emmahogany



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cheesy, Family, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Parentlock, evil!mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmahogany/pseuds/emmahogany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'If you don’t leave Sherlock…' Mary said with a dangerous sweet voice, 'I will tell John the truth… I will tell him this child,' she puts her hand on her belly, 'is yours.'</p><p>Sherlock swallows. </p><p>Because it’s true isn’t it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	She has her father's eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarulez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarulez/gifts).



> When I first told my best friend about this idea, her first reaction was (and I quote) "oh god, you crazy mind." 
> 
> This was basically the most fucked up and dark idea I ever had, but strangely enough it became kinda fluffy and very very cheesy. I had much fun writing it :)
> 
> Important: I do NOT hate Mary, Amanda Abbington is an amazing actress and Mary is a wonderful personage. The Mary in this story is not the same Mary as in the series! Like our favourite consulting criminal said: "every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain". 
> 
> The personages are (obviously) not mine. I just play with the characters BBC has created. I hope you have fun reading this tiny addition of all the Sherlock fanfictions that exist. 
> 
> If you have any questions: don't be shy to ask, I will answer glady. Critique is welcome, and if I made any mistakes please let me know. :)
> 
> Please have fun reading! 
> 
> Emma

‘If you don’t leave Sherlock…’ Mary said with a dangerous sweet voice, ‘I will tell John the truth… I will tell him this child,’ she puts her hand on her belly, ‘is yours.’

Sherlock swallows.

Because it’s true isn’t it?

‘It will break him, Sherlock. It will _destroy_ him.’ She tilted her head to the side, ‘you don’t want that... Do you?’

Sherlock couldn’t speak, what could he say?

‘Do we have a deal Sherlock?’

Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded. Mary patted his cheek.

‘Good,’ she smiled, ‘I knew you would make the right choice.’

* * *

 ‘Hello Sherlock.’

Sherlock blinks. Stares. Blinks again.

John coughed, ‘Can... can we come in?’

‘I… yes, of course.’

Sherlocks glanced down to the little girl holding her dads leg. Blond curls bouncing of her head. Blond. Mary’s haircolour. The soft build of the child was also Mary’s. Sherlock was relieved. Maybe John didn’t know…

The girl looked up shyly. Bright piercing eyes locked into his.

Blue. Green. Grey. Everything at the same time.

His eyes.

He looked back at John, who was admiring his daughter. A soft smile played over his mouth. ‘Beautiful isn’t she? She’s gonna break so many hearts when she grows up…’ John chuckled, ‘Especially with those eyes of her, just like her fathers.’

Bile rose in Sherlocks throat. No. No no no no no. This can’t be happening. He couldn’t look at John, couldn’t see the hate, the betrayal.

John knew.

* * *

Sherlock was hyperventilating.

The idea was so absurd. Sherlock. Brilliant. Mad. Genius. Sherlock. Having a panic attack.  


Johns doctor instinct kicked in, ‘Sherlock, calm down... look at me.’

John took Sherlocks head between his hands and forced him to look into his eyes.  


‘Breathe with me Sherlock… Slowly… In.. and out...’  


To his relief Sherlock calmed down.  


‘There… That’s better.’  


Sherlock stared at him. Confusion. Fear. Shock. Sadness. Panic.  


‘Just...’ John sighed, ‘we really need to talk. Can we continue this inside?’  


Even more confusion. A tiny flash of hope. A deep breath and Sherlock nods once. He steps back to let John and his little daughter pass.  


‘What is her name?’  


His voice was hoarse.  


‘Hannah,’ answered John, ‘Hannah Elizabeth Watson.’

* * *

Hannah. Hannah. Hannah Elizabeth Watson. Johns daughter. The child he raised for four years now. The child _he_ had fathered…

‘Is euhm… The house... you know… child-safe?’  


Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts.  


‘Yes,’ said Sherlock, he paused ‘maybe not the kitchen.’  


John snorted, a tiny smile appeared on his face, ‘Experiments?’  


Sherlock nodded.  


‘Should I be afraid for another head in the fridge?’  


‘Not human...’ said Sherlock, ‘It’s difficult to borrow body parts of morgues when you don’t know the right people.’  


‘Steal you mean. What Molly did wasn’t exactly legal.’  


It was so normal. Like they still lived at Bakerstreet. Small talk, normally dull and useless but not with John. Never with John. John was the exception to everything.  


God how he had missed him.  


How many times did he imagined this meeting? Too many times. Almost every day. No scratch that. Certainly every day. Multiple times a day in the first year in fact.  


And now here he was. Warm. Alive. John.  


He even wore a jumper.  


‘Sherlock?’  


‘I...’ Sherlock swallowed, averted his gaze, ‘I missed you.’

* * *

I missed you, spoken like a dark secret. Something to be ashamed of.

It was the truth. John knew that Sherlock was a skilled liar. But not like this. Not with his voice dripping with emotion, honest, afraid.  


‘I missed you too.’  


Sherlock snapped up. Eyes filled with surprise, confusion and wonder. Just like the first time in that cab. _That’s not what people normally say._  


‘Why did you leave?’ That was the million dollar question right? He didn’t wanted to ask so fast, but the words slipped out. Too late to stop.  


Sherlock started to tremble. Breathing fast. On the edge on another panick attack.  


‘Hey.’  


John stepped forward and pulled Sherlock in a hug. It was a little bit awkward. Sherlock was tense with panic and shock. But John just held him.  


‘It doesn’t matter.’  


And Sherlock just melted. He put his head on top of Johns and just breathed.  


‘John.’ A broken whisper.  


‘It’s alright now. I’m here… I’m here Sherlock.’

* * *

Warm. John was warm. His whole mind was wiped clean. Nothing but warmth and John.

John. John. John. John. John.  


He wanted to stay here forever. Swallowed by warmth and comfort. Hugging John. His first, best and only friend.  


The man he loved.  


He made a small hiccuping noice. How embarrassing. But John just stroked his back with a gentle caress.  


‘Daddy?’

John pulled away a little but didn’t stopped touching Sherlock. An affectionate hand still stayed on his shoulder. This was new. The lingering touch. Not wanting to break contact.

‘Yes sweetheart?’

She looked at him, ‘Who is this?’

John smiled, ‘This is Sherlock, honey.’

Her mouth fell open, ‘From the _stories_?’

‘Yes,’ said John, ‘from the stories.”

‘Really? Honest?’

‘Pinky swear.’

She stared at Sherlock with awe and adoration.

Sherlock was baffled. John told his daughter stories about him. About him.

‘Are you really a pirate?’

John blushed a little. Sherlock sat on his knees and looked at the girl. Johns daughter.

‘I was,’ he said, ‘when I was little. I had the most amazing adventures, I spent months on the sea.’

‘Together with daddy!’ Hannah squeeked happily, ‘You solved mysteries! Like the one with the evil pirate and the two poisons! That was so clever!’ She clapped her hands with glee.

Poisons? From a Study in Pink? John told her about their cases together? Something warm filled his chest.

‘Yes,’ said Sherlock, ‘But did he tell you about Redbeard?’

Her eyes widened, ‘Redbeard?’

‘Redbeard,’ said Sherlock, ‘He was my first mate, the one before Jo-your daddy.’

Hannah looked with wonder at Sherlock, ‘Can you tell me the stories about Redbeard?’

Sherlock looked hesitant at John, ‘If it’s alright with your daddy.’

‘Please daddy? Please please please?’

‘Of course sweetheart,’ he petted her soft curls, ‘but not today, it’s late and you have to go to sleep. We still need to find a hotel.’

Hannah pouted. Disappointment oozed from her little body.

‘You can stay here.’

John looked surprised at Sherlock. Sherlock wanted to scream. Why had he said that? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

‘I mean...’ said Sherlock, ‘If you don’t want… You’re not obligated of course… But I have a spare bedroom… and…’

Johns face lit up with a brilliant smile, ‘That would be very nice of you.’

Relief  is a very powerful emotion.

* * *

Sherlock helped John with his suitcase. It was like Sherlock thought John would disappear when he didn’t see him anymore. Which was a bit ironic because Sherlock was the one who disappeared.

Twice.

Hannah danced around them. Bubbling with energy. John smiled.

God, he was crazy about that kid.

Sherlock observed them. No he deduced them. He practically saw him adding things to his mind palace.

John rose one eyebrow, ‘You still have the same look when you’re thinking.’

‘I do?’

‘Yeah...’

Sherlock remained silent. Deep in thought.

They brought Hannah to the spare bedroom. John changed her into her pyjama’s and tucked her in.

‘Now sweety,’ John said, ‘do you want a story?’

‘Yes!’ shouted Hannah happily, ‘A story from Sherlock!’ She turned her adorable gaze to Sherlock, ‘About Redbeard!’

John saw Sherlock softening, a few hours and Hannah had him already wrapped around her little finger.

‘Well then...’ Sherlock sat on the bed, ‘this is the story about how Captain Sherlock first met Redbeard...’

* * *

It was very surreal. Normally, when Sherlock was being friendly to people, he did it because he wanted something: a clue for a case, body parts from the morgue, cold cases from Lestrade.

Never with John.

John was the only exception, for everything.

And now… Now he had a four year old, hanging on his lips… Begging for stories. And Sherlock… Sherlock liked it. He could tell stories for hours… Just for her.

Without him noticing… This little girl had pierced herself into his mind palace. Right next to the place were John was.

Right into his heart.

His daughter.

No. No. Not his daughter. Not _his_. Johns. John was Hannahs father. He raised her. He was her dad, the one who played with her, took care of her, loved her.

Sherlock had just provided half of her DNA.

Thats why John was here wasn’t it? He needed to make sure that Sherlock didn’t took Hannah away from him… He was the biological father. Technically speaking he had some rights…

But Sherlock couldn’t do that to John. John adored Hannah. How much Sherlock wanted to see them both again after today… It wasn’t possible. John deserves to be happy. He deserves to be the happiest person on earth. Sherlock couldn’t take that away from him. Sherlock would do what John asked. Sherlock couldn’t be selfish now. He would be strong. For John. And for Hannah.

Hannah yawned. She was tired.

Before he realised what he was doing. He bended over and pressed a feather light kiss on her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

‘Good night,’ he whispered.

This was the last time he would ever see her again. He prented her little face in his memory. The blond curls, the little dip in het cheek when she smiled, her full pink lips, the adorable laugh when she was happy.

It would be enough.

It had to be enough.

* * *

John saw Sherlock bending over and press a kiss on Hannahs forehead.

He melted.

How could anyone think this man was cold and heartless? Sherlock was someone who loved deeply and truly.

Sherlock rose and looked at John, question in his eyes. John smiled. He walked to Hannah and pressed another kiss on her forehead. Right on the same spot were Sherlock had kissed her.

‘Goodnight sweetheart.’

‘Good night daddy,’ she yawned again, ‘goodnight Sherlock.’

Sherlock followed John out the bedroom.

‘If you… if you want to sleep...’ Shelock said hesistantly, ‘You can use my bedroom if you want… I don’t need to sleep...’

No, of course not… This was Sherlock. He could be awake for days if he wanted to.

‘I could use some sleep,’ John admitted, ‘but not now.’ He took a deep breath, ‘we need to talk.’

* * *

We need to talk.

Four simple words.  


Sherlocks insides froze over. This was it right? The happy bubble was going to be broken.  


We need to talk.  


Four words that could mean anything. Break worlds.  


Sherlock took a deep breath.  


Yes, they needed to talk. He might not like it. But John was right.  


He was ready.  


‘You have questions,’ he stated, of course John had questions, ‘let’s go outside.’

* * *

Outside was beautiful. It was still warm. Crickets were chirping. The air smelled heavenly of lavender.

‘Why France?’ asked John.

Sherlock shrugged, ‘I always liked it here…  It’s calm. And I am fluent in French.’

John snorted, ‘Calm? Since when does the great Sherlock Holmes need calm? Didn’t you miss the thrill of the cases? Didn’t you miss Londen?’

Didn’t you miss _me_?

Sherlock looked at him.

‘Every day.’

For some reason John knew that this was the answer on the unspoken question.

‘Oh,’ said John and swallowed, ‘why didn’t you come back?’

‘I couldn’t,’ a whisper.

‘Tell me,’ said John, ‘I need to know Sherlock, please.’

Sherlock looked so broken. So helpless. John sighed.

‘Most of it I know already,’ said John, ‘but not everything…’

‘What do you know John? Tell me. Just...’ Sherlock looked frustrated, ‘Do you know about… about...’

Sherlock was struggeling. He couldn’t say it.

‘Hannah?’

A wordless plea appeared in Sherlocks eyes.

‘Yes,’ said John, ‘I know, I know that you are her father.’

‘No,’ said Sherlock, he looked so lost. So broken. ‘You are her father. I just… Provided the DNA… Don’t let anyone, anyone, tell you you are not that little girls father. Because you are. And you are a fantastic father. The best.’

John smiled softy.

* * *

This was not how he imaged it would go.

John knew. He knew.

‘Why aren’t you angry? Why aren’t you _disgusted_?’ Sherlock wanted to scream, but he remembered that Hannah was sleeping so he just whispered very loudly, ‘I can’t understand you John Watson. You always surprise me. Always. Now. In the beginning. A normal person would be mad at me… Would hate me! I can’t… I can’t figure you out!’

‘I’m not a normal person.’

Sherlock trew his hands in the air, ‘I was supposed to be your best friend…’

‘You still are.’

‘I can’t be! I _slept_ with your _wife_. The child you’re raising is technically mine.’ Sherlock was on the edge of tears, ‘how can you be so calm about this?’

‘Sherlock… Look at me.’

He looked in Johns eyes. There was no hate, no anger, only determination.

‘I want you to speak the truth, can you do that for me?’

‘Of course.’ Anything. He would do anything for John.

‘Did you willingly, _willingly_ slept with Mary? Did you _want_ it? Did you _want_ to have sex with her?’

* * *

This was the question he needed to ask. The one question that would change everything.

‘No,’ said Sherlock, and John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he knew it of course… He always knew. But that doesn’t made it any easier to hear it from Sherlocks mouth.

‘But that doesn’t take away the fact that I did.’

Johns eyes flashed open. For the first time this evening he felt angry.

‘Than it was _rape_ Sherlock.’

John practically saw the shock, confusion and denial turning in Sherlocks head. He needed Sherlock to realise this. That it wasn’t his fault.

‘That’s the definition of rape Sherlock,’ John said, this time softer, ‘when someone forces you to have sex with them.'

‘But… But...’

Sherlock looked even more broken now.

But that was good.

Sometimes things that are wrongly healed need to be broken again. So they can heal right.

‘The only thing I don’t understand Sherlock… The only thing I’m angry about…’ his voice broke, ‘Why haven't you told me?’

‘You would have hated me…’ whispered Sherlock, ‘everything, anything, is better than that.’ He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, ‘It was my word against hers…’

‘You still could have told me… I would have believed you.’

Sherlock laughed, a sad laugh… Without happiness in it. It sounded all wrong. ‘No, you wouldn’t. Think about it John… I slept with the woman you loved, your fiancée. There was nothing that I could say to make it better.’

‘You could have explained!’

‘And force you to choose? It was better like this.’

‘Who says that I would have chosen her?’

Sherlock smiled, ‘You already did...’ he took deep breath, ‘you proposed to her… And it would be enough. I was happy to be your friend. Every tiny bit was enough. She gave me a choice: I would leave or she would tell the truth… I couldn’t let her do that John! I couldn’t let her hurt you because of me!’

‘But it wasn’t your fault!’

‘It doesn’t matter! The only thing that was important was your happiness! When I left, you still had Mary… If I stayed you would have lost both of us… It was a choice that I made.’

‘Oh God,’ said John, he felt like he was about to faint, ‘you loved me.’

Sherlock loved him. It was crystal clear now… He should have seen it.

‘Obviously.’ He couldn’t look at John, ‘I still do… I never stopped.’

Not loved. Love. Sherlock loves him. Even after John had chosen Mary… Even after all those years… John felt lightheaded.

‘But I wasn’t happy,’ whispered John, ‘I wasn’t happy without you. And… I didn’t realised that untill it was too late… Until you already left. You were my world Sherlock.’

* * *

Was it possible to die from a heart that couldn’t decide whether to break or to sing from happiness?  


Why wasn’t John happy with Mary? This couldn’t be true…  


‘But she was you fiancée… You chose her… Why didn’t it work out?’  


‘It did… In the beginning,’ admitted John, ‘But you were always missing… I wanted you to be my best man on my wedding… I chose Greg, you know… Lestrade… He was a good choice, the stag night was memorable… But he wasn’t you.’  


John smiled, ‘I even considered Mycroft for a while.’  


Sherlock snorted, ‘He would have eaten all the cake.’  


John laughed. It was such a nice laugh… Warm. Content. Happy.  


It was one of the things he liked the most of John. Next to his loyalty… His bravery… His ability to make just the right cup of tea…  


‘And then,’ John continued, ‘She told me… She told me she was pregnant… Of Hannah… And when she was born… you should have seen her Sherlock. She was the most perfect daughter a father could wish for… I felt so lucky… But I didn’t feel complete. Again. You weren’t there… You were supposed to be godfather.’  


Godfather? John would have trusted Sherlock with his daughter?  


‘It went okay the first year… Mary went back to work… I stayed at home and took care of her. Mary was… ambitious… I couldn’t take that away from her. And it gave me more time with Hannah.’  


‘And then… Mary started to work even more… Sometimes I didn’t saw her for days. I should have known...’  


John smiled bitterly, ‘she was cheating on me you know? We got a divorce. She didn’t even wanted to take care of Hannah.’  


Sherlock felt a sudden rage. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He left John for Mary… For Mary to make him happy. And she cheated on him?  


‘That was two year ago, we divorced a year after that.’  


John divorced Mary?

‘The last night I saw her, she yelled at me… She was so angry... She said things...' John looked frustrated, 'I knew then she didn’t loved me. Sometimes I wonder if she ever did.'

John looked away.

'She didn't even care about Hannah, her own daughter, Sherlock! Her own child… Last thing she screamed to me that she wasn’t even mine... Not that it matters. I haven’t seen her since then.’

‘John...’ rasped Sherlock, ‘I am so so-’

‘Don’t’ interrupted John, ‘don’t you dare say you are sorry, Sherlock. It’s better like this… She made me miserable.’

They sat in silence. Comfortable. Sherlock thinking about all the information John just told. His head was spinning.

John took his hand. ‘We will figure this out Sherlock, together.’

Sherlock hesistantly gave a little squeeze. John squeezed back. It felt like hope.

* * *

 They talked a lot that evening. Mostly about Hannah. Her first steps. Her first word. Things like that.

It was calming.  


John liked to talk about Hannah.  


John liked to talk to Sherlock even more. Sherlock mostly listened. And stared. At John. Like every word John spoke was of the greatest importance.  


‘I’m dominating the conversation aren’t I?’ Said John with a small smile.  


‘No… It’s fine… It’s all fine… I like it.’  


John raised one eyebrow. ‘Really?’  


‘Really.’  


John was silent for a while.  


‘Mary died.’  


John said it cool… Emotionless… Like it wasn’t an important fact.  


‘Car crash… a few months ago.’ He looked at Sherlock, ‘You don’t seem surprised.’  


‘I… I suspected it.’  


John frowned. Confused. ‘How?’  


‘She sended me pictures. Every month… To… To remind me. To show me you were happy… A few months ago she stopped.’  


Mary had sended Sherlock pictures? Every _month_? How many times did he wished he knew were Sherlock was?  


And she had known the whole time.  


God. He wished he had never met Mary… But then he wouldn’t have had Hannah…  


This situation was fucked up.  


‘I was glad for it,’ said Sherlock, ‘the pictures… On the bad days they hurt, but on the good days… They were soothing.’  


Christ. John bit back tears.  


‘Sherlock...’ but what could he say?  


‘I liked the one of her second birthday,’ he smiled.  


‘That was a very nice day,’ John remembered, ‘I wish you would have been there too.’  


Sherlock made a distressed noise but didn’t commented.  


‘I’m a little bit tired’ said John ‘and Hannah has the habit to be awake early. I should go to sleep.’  


‘Yes,’ said Sherlock when he stood up, ‘I… I’ll show you the bedroom.’

They walked back into the house. Silent.

‘I’ll let you sleep.’ said Sherlock, ‘Goodnight John.’

‘Goodnight.’ John smiled. Sherlock closed the door. John sat on the bed and put his face in his hands. Bloody hell. This evening was an emotional rollercoaster. He took a deep an shuddering breath to calm himself down.

Fuck.  


He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something so badly and then scream.  


John was no Sherlock. He couldn’t deduce people, but even he could see how much the past four years had broke Sherlock. Why didn’t he do something sooner? Four years. Four years and John hadn’t really questioned Sherlocks disappearance. There was always that nagging feeling. The excuse of _‘a case for Mycroft, must leave immediatly, will take a few months_ ’ sounded pretty weak now. But at the time, just before the wedding with Mary, he was so busy, plus he was pretty pissed that his best man had ditched him for a case. He just didn’t thought about it. And now… Now he wished he had.  


God he had been so stupid.  


Sherlock had been his life. He had safed him after Afganistan. Gave his life the thrill of the case. The adventure. Just the two of us against the rest of the world.  


And John had trown all that away. For Mary.  


Mary. That cheating _bitch_.

He was furious when he discovered. Even more because he knew Sherlock would have seen it immediately.  


_Wedding ring. State of her marriage, right there._  


The worst thing? He had loved her. He really was smitten with her. She was supposed to be the one. That's why he bought the ring.  


Now he wished he hadn’t.  


Would his life had gone different if he had chosen Sherlock instead? Absolutely. Would he have been happy? Certainly. Did he want Sherlock back in his life? Definitely.  


He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

* * *

John.

John.  


John.  


John was here.

It was surreal. After four years of not seeing John… Now he was here.

In his bed, sleeping.

He wanted to sneak in the bedroom and just look at him sleep. But that would be considered creepy. _Bit not good Sherlock._

Suddenly he heard the door opening. Hannah looked sleepily up at him.

‘Where is daddy?’

‘Daddy is asleep.’

‘Oh,’ her little mouth formed an adorable pout.

‘Can I do something for you?’

‘I can’t sleep.’ She stared at Sherlock with gigantic puppy dog eyes, ‘daddy sings always a song for me when I can’t sleep.’

‘I can play the violin? It always soothes me, and it helps me think.’

‘Oh,’ said Hannah, ‘I would like that.’ She crawled into the chair and looked at Sherlock.  


Sherlock took his violin and started to play. The song. His song. Johns song. The song he had written for him and only he knew.  


Hannahs yawned and her head started bobbing.  


Sherlock smiled and started humming. Together with the violin. A deep baritone sound.  


Her eyes fluttered close and her breathing deepened. Sherlock just continued to play, until the song was finnished.  


‘That was beautiful.’  


Sherlock swirled arround and saw John standing in the doorway.  


‘Thank you.’  


‘You’re good with her.’ said John.  


He puts his violin down and looked at John. Not knowing what to say.  


‘Sorry for waking you.’ He eventually said.  


‘Thats alright.’ said John, ‘I couldn’t sleep.’  


‘Do you need something?’  


‘No, I’m alright.’ John paused, ‘there was something I wanted to ask you.’  


‘Anything.’  


‘I was hoping I could do this conversation tomorrow but… What are your plans for the future?’  


‘Excuse me?’  


‘Will you come back to London?’  


‘I...’ Sherlock thought, ‘I would like that.’  


John smiled, sincerely relieved, ‘Everyone missed you, you know...Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, even Mycroft.’  


‘It’s not like I was death.’  


John winced and Sherlock wished he would have kept his mouth shut.  


‘That doesn’t mean they didn’t missed you, Sherlock. Four years is a long time… And we didn’t hear a single thing from you.’  


‘I couldn’t,’ said Sherlock desperatly, ‘it was part of the deal.’  


John looked angry, ‘the deal with Mary?’  


‘Yes.’

‘Mary is gone now Sherlock. Please come back home? Bakerstreet is still available… I believe Mycroft has hired it all this time.. And Mrs. Hudson said it was just wrong to let someone beside you live at 221B.’

‘Yes,’ said Sherlock, ‘I’ll come back home.’  


John beamed. ‘Good… That’s… Good.’  


Sherlock smiled back.  


‘Do you want uhm...’ John struggled with his words, ‘Hannah is your child too… Do you want-’  


‘No,’ said Sherlock.  


Johns face fell, ‘Oh’.  


‘You are her daddy, I’m nothing. I don’t deserve her. Hannah is yours John. I won’t do anything to claim my fatherhood.’  


‘What if I want you to?’  


Sherlocks world stopped. He couldn’t possibly had interpretend those words correct, right?  


‘What?’  


‘What if I wanted you in Hannahs life?’

Sherlocks head spinned.

‘Do you want to be in Hannahs life? Do you want to be her father?’

‘I...’

‘Don’t lie Sherlock, just say what you want. Please.’

Sherlock thought deeply.

‘You don’t have to decide today we can-’

‘Yes.’

Johns eyes widened, ‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’

He already adored that little girl. Technically she might be his… But at the same time she was so John. Warm and comfortable.

‘Okay... We just… Okay… Let’s do this. We can raise her together… Maybe we could live at Bakerstreet? But you will have to cut down the experiments, they are not child safe, and keep the bloody body parts at the morgue, I mean it! And-’

John kept rambeling, while Sherlocks world seemed to have stopped.

How was it possible for his life to turn so perfect?

Then he looked back at John and he knew.

His life would always be perfect with John Watson on his side.

* * *

Hannah Elizabeth Watson couldn’t sleep.

She crawled out of her bed and toddled to the bedroom of her parents.  


‘Daddy?’  


A deep grunt rose from the bed.  


‘Daddy I can’t sleep.’

A heavy sigh followed.  


‘I want papa to play me the violin.’  


John moaned, ‘It’s three o’clock Hannah.’  


‘But I always play the violin at three o’clock in the morning, John. Do keep up.’  


Daddy smiled. ‘Do you mind?’

Papas gaze turned soft, ‘not at all.’ and pressed a kiss against daddy's lips. He rolled out of bed while Hannah stepped in and cuddled her daddy. The bed was warm.

Papa took his violin and played her song. The song he wrote to her when she turned six last week.

Hannah closed her eyes and fell asleep, surrounded by warmth and love.  


End file.
